The Last Tale of Dead End
by Master Fwiffo
Summary: These are the final words of Dead End, recorded as sparks long dead came to take his soul... A Transformers story written in the vein of H.P. Lovecraft!


The first time I died was the hardest. Screaming and begging for mercy, my spark having been online for a precious few hours, before my spark was ripped straight from my body and the only words I heard were "You are Decepticon, now."

It wasn't fun.

The second time I died was in combat. I fought the red Autobot to a standstill, and he managed to get me. I fell, my mangled body hitting the ground, and the precious Energon seeping away from me, and I was glad to embrace the end.

I wish I had stayed dead. Now, more so than ever.

Fittingly enough, my name is Dead End. I leave these datatracks so they know what drove me to this final, desperate action.

Even now, I can feel them, getting closer. The fresh energon is draining, bleeding away. And I must do the deed myself, so they don't try to bring me back again. I don't want to come back. Silence is what I want.

The first time I died, I later learned was ritual branding amongst our sordid kind. They ripped my spark straight from my barely conscious protoform, so that I would know fear. Fear of Megatron. Fear of the Decepticons. Fear of death. So that I would live in fear.

Cruel. But effective. I thought, when I found myself in my new form, that I knew what fear was. I knew what death was like now, and what more could I fear, but Megatron and pain. And so I fought. For thousands of cycles I fought. I killed. I laughed as I did. My first victim was a helpless salvage scrap drone. The obnoxious twerp crossed me one too many times. I laughed. He screamed. I counted how long he screamed for as I tore his spark from his body. Thirty more seconds. Then, I extinguished it. Crushed his life, right in my hands, feeling my power, my own dominance over the pathetic weakling.

And it felt good.

He was the first. There were more. Minicons and drones, Autobot scouts, Autobot warriors, and even a fellow Decepticon. Growl once dared to challenge me. He lost. He begged. He screamed. That I could return to those days, not knowing that my sins were being tallied, weighed, and that torment was coming, endless torment I could never escape. I hear them yet again...

Fate finally caught up to me. Cliffjumper, the Autobot was named. I will not forget him. I killed a friend of his, some little femmebot - blew her right open with a grenade. Lovely scream. Filled with anger, he attacked. He won. Me pushed me off a cliff, and I fell. I died.

I wish I had stayed that way. That the blackness that engulfed me then would have never fled. That my spark was extinguished on those rocks, oh so long ago. That the silence had remained....

I awoke in Scalpels laboratory, that sadistic little insect waking me so he could hear my cries as he reattached, reformed me. The pain was intolerable, but life was worth it. Twice now, I had cheated death. Twice now, my spark had survived, against all odds. Third times the charm. I hope.

I should have realized something was wrong, for while under repairs, I saw a form nearby that looked familiar. Another Decepticon, Growls body type. I shrugged it off. There are a lot of drones that look kinda like Growl. Who cares? I sure didn't.

As I left Scalpels horrible ward, the disgusting insect chuckling all the while, I began to notice a sense of unease. I knew that feeling. It's one Breakdown whines about all the time. Someone was watching me, jealous of my continued life, perhaps. I glanced around, and was face to face with the oldest, most horrible Decepticon I have ever seen. His red optics were buried deep inside hollow sockets, his face barely held together by wires and a massive clamp over his jaw. He held the form of some sort of papery winged vehicle, but his body was more of a protoform than a full body. He was thin, gaunt, and his optics seemed to glare evilly into my very spark.

When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, but contained dark intelligence behind it. "You are lucky to be alive, young one. Surely, you have the Fallen's blessing."

I didn't know what the 'Fallen' was, nor did I care. I just wanted to get away from that rickety scrapheap, and I said as much to him.

"Do not shun a blessing of the Fallen." He said in reply. "For He will collect on his debt."

I walked off at that point, ignoring his ravings. I belong only to Megatron, and only to the Decepticons. If the Fallen wants to collect my debt, he better take it up with him.

Well, maybe he did. Shortly after, we learned Megatron, long absent, was dead, and now Starscream was in command. We, of course, were absolutely elated. We just loved Starscream. We could not wait for his surely humble and agreeable attitude to lead us to certain victory.

We were shocked when he failed. Shocked I say. Though, in private, many of us rejoiced. Starscream took his defeat hard, and, like me, I suspect his sanity began to disintegrate as well. Next time we saw him, he had mutilated himself up with Allspark markings, no longer arrogant and boastful, but timid and submissive. His ravings were as insane as that ancient Decepticon's. But he still seemed to have power. Lost and leaderless, we had no choice but to follow him. Already, there are mumblings of trying to resurrect Megatron. Soundwave should be starting that venture soon. A pity I will not live to see it.

It was about the time Starscream returned when I realized something was wrong. Ever since my resurrection, strange chills bothered me in the darkest hours. I felt as though I was always observed, prying optics staring at me through all rest cycles, and activities. Two things relieved the tension - combat, and energon. The later seemed most effective - when fully fueled, I could rest at ease for a time. But always, unfailingly, as fuel began to run low, the unease returned. It was during one such period that the first incident happened.

I tripped over a scrap drone. That happens more often than you would think - no problem, an annoyance. I was looking forward to exterminating its clumsy spark, but as I looked back, I saw, for a fleeting instance, it grinning back at me. And what set me on edge was the fact that it was the face of the drone I had killed before.

The drone disappeared into the shadows, but my attempt to pursue it was useless. I walked away, shaking my head, convincing my rational side that it was just a scrap metal drone of a shared body type. I went, refueled, and forgot about it.

Several days later, I ran into that skeletal Decepticon again. Got assigned to accompany him on a scout mission. Said his name was Ransack, and would not shut up. All I wanted to do was drive and scout, but he kept his comm open the old time. And he rambled. Oh did he ramble. He mentioned old things, ancient things, hideous things from Cybertrons dark and forgotten past. Words I didn't recognize peppered his speech, words like Primacron, Quintessons, Vok, Violen Jager, Dezaurus, talks of Matrix's and other worlds, of far off Nebulos and their forbidden Master technology, of Andelor and the beast named Grog who guards power unknown, the mystical and magical world of Menonia, where tiny organics cast curses that can destroy the mightiest mech, of Torkulon, where the Ayla spin webs of deceit, capturing and torturing the prisoners, and feeding their life forces to the cavernous maw at the worlds center, and of the dark servant, the Fallen, who awaits in the desert of stars to awaken his master, the destroyer, the seeker of the voice, great Unicron!

These tales annoyed me to no end. I'm a fairly rational bot (or, I thought I was, back then), and though the universe is vast, his words rang as nothing more then hollow fantasies of an aging, superstitious, mind. As we returned to base, Ransack landed beside me, and a hideous suggestion of a smile appeared on the iron-clad mug of his. "But you know these things to be true already." He said, his voice accompanied by a whispering chuckle. "The mark of the Fallen is on you, and you can now see realms you can never imagine."

And as he said that, my imagination went wild. For behind him, I swear I saw several vaporous forms waiting for me, including Growl, a slight femmebot, and that hideously grinning scrap metal drone. I shook my head to clear it, and it was gone. A hallucination, obviously. Scalpel must have crossed some wires when he rebuilt me. That's all, I thought. A refuel, and it was all forgotten.

But as I entered my rest cycle that night, I was haunted by strange dreams. Our kind doesn't normally dream, though memories will often replay themselves. But this night, in addition to gruesome memories of my past kills and triumphs, I saw places I had never been, but knew them to be real. I saw the arachnids of Torkulon, spinning their webs around the thrashing people trapped within. I saw the hideous grins of the Vok, laughing and mocking me for the things I did not know. And I saw the massive horns around the sole glowing eye of the eternal Unicron, who will come forth and consume all that exists, and his herald the Fallen who sleeps in an endless desert of stars...

I awoke in near panic, frightened now of things beyond my limited imagination. How could I see these worlds and things I had never seen? Transformers cannot do that? Can they?

I pulled away from my resting area, and tripped forward over something. I turned, and there again was that scrap metal drone, his awful, toothy grin wider than ever. And this time, the phantom spoke. "You are like us, now!"

I wish I could say my constitution remained firm, that my training as a Decepticon allowed me to conquer my fear of the unnatural. But it didn't. I slipped offline instantly.

I awoke some time later in Scalpel's repair bay. The first thing I saw was those stupidly big eyes of his. The second thing I saw was a femme. A femme I recognized instantly. For I had killed her just before I died the second time.

I admit that I panicked, pointing at the apparition and gibbering like an idiot. Scalpel immediately hollered for aide, and suddenly strong arms were pushing me down. Several Decepticons were there, including Ransack. He was grinning at me again. Damn him. I said as much, cursing loudly as Scalpel sent me back offline again.

I woke up again, and the apparition was still there. I was in pain as well - Scalpel was still pulling and rearranging me, even as I awoke. So this time, I remained silent on the phantoms presence, insisting to that damned insect that I was fine now. Scalpel eventually consented to let me rise. I made a point to wander toward the phantom, who retreated through a solid wall. It must be a hallucination. It must be something with my optics. I told myself that over and over again, but I was unwilling to let Scalpel get his murderous little claws on me again, so I said nothing. Fool that I was, I said nothing.

The apparition was waiting for me when I escaped Scalpel's lab. Again, I marched toward it, and again it retreated. I played this game with it for awhile, until I grew tired, and left. It followed me, at a distance, simply staring at me. Occasionally, I saw it mouth words I could not hear. But I decided it was no more threat. I went, and refueled. To my pleasure, as soon as my reserves were full again, the phantom disappeared.

At last, the solution had been found! The phantoms continued to haunt me - Growl, the femmebot, the scrap metal drone, always, always grinning.... But every time they appeared, I refueled, and they were gone. This let me continue in relative peace for a time, though my rest cycle was always haunted by dreams of places I had never been, and of the dark destroyer Unicron, and his shadowy servant, the Fallen.

But as time went on, two problems began to pop up. Other Decepticons were complaining about my constant refueling. Charges of wasteful usage, gluttony, and inefficiency were being whispered, and before long, leveled. But what could I say? How could I tell them that a full charge was the only thing keeping the dead at bay?

And even as this was happening, the restful periods between haunts became smaller, and the need for refueling became more and more frequent. My superiors were furious, and I was terrified. If the dead would not get me, the living surely would. What could I do? How could I escape it?

The answer came to me in a horrible dream, one which I cannot bear to repeat here. But when I awoke, I knew the answer. I picked Swindle. He was an obnoxious, low ranking imbecile whom I was often paired with, and no one would miss him. One our next scout mission, we went out together. When I returned, my superiors received a report about how a number of Autobots had ambushed us, and killed Swindle. It was believable - I was beaten, I was battered, and I was scraped. But the truth was more horrible than any Decepticon realized.

We Decepticons do not shy from killing. We revel in it. Extinguishing Swindle's spark was an immense pleasure, and even though he was a fellow Decepticon, a task no branded warrior would shun. That was not the horror.

The horror was what I did after. His life fluids pouring from his shattered corpse... and I took them. _I syphoned away the energon from his very body to refuel my reserves!_ I left an energonless, sparkless shell of a former Decepticon behind, now a traitor. But treason didn't concern me. Traitors were common. Murderers more so. But what I did... the horror of that moment... even the most heinous Decepticon would never conceive such an awful act. And worst of all... I reveled in it. I laughed, I enjoyed it. It brought me freedom! And as soon as I had done it, I knew. It was several weeks before the apparitions appeared again.

This time, they edged in closer, but my fear was gone. I knew what to do now. I experimented a bit. I didn't kill Breakdown, but drained some of his energon during his rest period. The effect did not last very long. For full effect, a spark had to be sacrificed too. First Tracer. Then Blot. Roller Force and Stormcloud. The bodies one by one adding up. But, as it had the first time, each successive kill's effect lasted briefer, and briefer, before the phantoms would return. And worse, the group of phantoms was growing. Where once Growl, the femme, and the ever grinning scrap metal drone stood together, now there were five. Then eight. Then twelve. An Autobot I beheaded. A Decepticon who crossed me. A minicon I trampled. More and more, following me, showing up more often.

Then, two days ago, I saw Swindle among the ghosts. Thats when the horrible realization sank in. I was not saving myself by these murders, but only prolonging the inevitable! Every Decepticon I killed added to the number who stalked me!

Swindle's lone eye followed me all day, now just one among the crowd who haunted my footsteps. I could hear them now, muttering in a language unfamiliar to me, invoking the dreaded names of Violen Jager and the eater of worlds, Unicron!

Constantly, the mutterings grew louder and louder. Normal energon could no longer take them away, and the kills were but a temporary reprieve!

Worse yet, the Decepticons knew what I was up to. Too many had gone missing. Too many had been killed, extinguished. Starscream and Soundwave were asking questions, and the trail would lead them right to me. I was done for. One way or another, it was going to end.

The last straw broke this morning. They surrounded me when I awoke from my rest cycle, pressing in close to me now. Closer than ever before, their damned words muttering over and over the chantings of Unicron and other horrors. I got out of my stasis chamber and burst through the crowd. And for the first time, _I realized I could feel them._ They were reaching at me, pawing me, grabbing at my spark.

The last strain of rationality broke, and I fled my room, brushing past Ransack, who watched with an amused, satisfied grin on his face.

I knew not what else to do. I found, killed, and drained Nautilator, but it was only a temporary reprieve. I knew I had to act.

I will not let myself be executed. I will not be tormented by damn ghosts. Already, I can hear their chanting again, returning to take my spark away, to tear into me and destroy me for my sins. But I won't grant them the pleasure!

I acquired a vial of cosmic rust from Scalpels lab. It will be painful, but it will be complete. There will be no body left to rebuild, no spark left for them to insert into another helpless protoform. I'll be free at last to die, and escape those horrible, taunting ghosts, and their vile chants to the Maker of the Void, Unicron and his terrible servant the Fallen. Free at last!

I leave this recording device on, so that all may hear my final words as I prepare to embrace oblivion as I should have done so long ago.

The deed is done! The cosmic rust spreads, creeping up my legs. Agh, but the pain is immense! I welcome it! I welcome the embrace of death it brings!

The ghosts come! It's too late, chant to Unicron and the Fallen all you wish, but death takes me now! I laugh at you Swindle! I laugh at you Growl, and you fragile femmebot, and you drone! Your grin means nothing to me anymore!

I can feel your touch, but its too late! I embrace death! No... no, my arm, it moves by itself! NO! Do not take my spark! I must not survive! All of me must be destroyed! My own body does not obey me! WHY?

No... I see now! I see the horrible truth! Why I cannot die! Because this spark, this horrible spark... _It is no longer mine!_

--Epilogue--

Ransack held the glowing orb gingerly. "He will remember nothing?" He asked quietly.

Scalpel skittishly hopped up onto to the protoform, the limb body waiting to receive a spark - whether new, or repossessed. "Ze spark retainz no memoriez. He cannot pozzibly remember anything. Why you do thiz?"

"We are short of troops, of course." Ransack answered, handing the orb over to the tiny, insect-like doctor. "Now, bring him back to us."

"If you zay zo." Scalpel gave a shrug, and with a grunt of effort, shoved the spark deep into the protoform." The protoform jerked, and an unearthly cry issued from its reforming circuits. Plugged into the Decepticon mainframe, it scanned through the databases, selecting a new alternate mode, and a new form. It solidified, creating a new warrior, bright red and black.

Scalpel looked at it an balked. "It iz deformed."

"Will it function?"

"Yez."

"Then that is all that matters." Ransack extended a hand, and helped up the protoform. The wide, toothy faced stared at him with mismatched eyed, the thin clawed hands clasping together and working nervously.

Ransack stared at the new warrior and issued a command. "What is your name? Speak!"

The form was silent.

"Your name is Dead End." Ransack said boldly. "Speak it. Speak your name."

The voice that came out was whispery, throaty, harsh. "Dead.... End...."

"Do you remember anything?"

Silence.

"Who do you serve?"

"Fall...en..."

"Vat iz ze Fallen?" Scalpel demanded.

"Never you mind." Ransack barked. "Come, Dead End. We have much to do."

Dead End stood - and immediately collapsed forward to his knees and hands. He stared at the ground for a moment, then deliberately started moving on all fours. Scalpel shook his head, muttered "Strange, requirez further ztudy," and returned to his lab.

Ransack lead the half scuttling, half crawling new Decepticon out of the lab, and smiled. A fine new warrior indeed. Out of the corner of his optic, he saw Dead End pause, and turn his wide head to stare at something that wasn't there. When Dead End looked back up at him, his face was twisted into a hideous, toothy grin.


End file.
